


assorted family photos

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Cryptids, F/F, Gen, Jewish Martin Blackwood, M/M, POV Alternating, Queerplatonic Relationships, Road Trips, melanie and martin that is!, queerplatonic tim/sasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When setting off on a research trip, it is advised that you prepare yourself for certain oddities that may greet you.or; key moments in a world where the entities are weaker and everyone got a bit more therapy
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Melanie King & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43
Collections: TMA Big Bang 2020





	1. Martin

**Author's Note:**

> you know those fics that are kinda ridiculous and out of character but so fluffy it kinda makes up for this? this is this but worse
> 
> on that note, thank you @bisexualoftheblade for not only betaing but for finding the route for this and running the bang, and @bookofwildes for making this readable!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin goes on a roadtrip and braids his crush's hair. It's a disaster.

Martin might not know much about his new coworkers, but something about Sasha and Tim, arms wrapped around each other and grinning proudly, felt entirely familiar. The only odd part was the campervan they were standing in front of which was a garish shade of yellow to match what they had apparently decided to wear as an odd version of a couple’s outfit. 

Martin didn’t like to judge people as a general rule, but on this occasion it was entirely warranted. He found Tim’s bright yellow jeans particularly awful, though the smiling cartoon suns on Sasha’s shirt were a close contender. 

“We’re going on a research trip ordered by the _Head of the Institute_ in… that?” Jon said, gingerly touching the side of the cab as if the colour could infect him. A familiar sneer graced his face as he studied it, looking for all the world as if it was the most horrible thing he’d ever seen. 

“It's a family heirloom, Jon!” Sasha said in mock-indignation, leaning against Tim with a comfortable grin, “In that Tim and I are a family, and it’s old.”

“Not as old as _your_ car though!” Tim added gleefully. His yellow tie was nearly fluorescent in the sun, and Martin found himself more focused on it than the brewing argument. If he was being honest with himself, which he never liked to be, that was probably for the best. 

Something about watching their banter always felt comfortingly familiar, like old friends who had long since fallen into old patterns of bickering. Martin was pretty sure that was what they were, but Tim and Sasha spent so much time gently ribbing Jon it was hard to tell. 

Looking at it made something in Martin feel warm, the fondness he could see even as the three of them engaged in heated debate over the definition of an heirloom. The feeling of being an outsider didn’t go away though, as if he was marked separate from the rest, a clear outsider in the friendship they’d built long before he came into the picture. 

They cut strange figures, Jon’s streak of grey hair illuminated in a strangely captivating way and the flashes of teeth from raucous laughter almost brilliant in the sunlight. 

For a moment Martin felt suddenly, painfully out of place before Tim spun around to grin at him and say, “Well, Martin? Let’s hear it!”

“Oh, like _Martin_ is going to know,” Jon scowled, but there was a strange light in his eyes that Martin hadn’t seen before, energised and almost happy. That was excitement Martin was seeing in the tilt of his frown, the rapid tapping of his fingers. 

Martin, it turned out, might have more than a little crush on his boss. Just a crush though, which was perfectly fine and manageable, really. “I think it has to be passed down from someone who, uh, died? To qualify as an heirloom.”

The quick, faintly surprised and even more faintly impressed look that flickered over Jon’s face didn’t help said crush. The half-hearted boos or warm grins from the other assistants did though. They made him feel comfortable, in that off-kilter and terrifying way that sometimes left him panicking late at night. 

That feeling didn’t leave when Tim threw open the trunk so they could pile their bags in, or when he settled into the backseat with a grumbling Jon. Or when Jon and Tim voiced their thoughts on the organisation of this trip with vitriol. Not even when Tim started singing along to a pop song to calm himself down. 

The ease didn’t last, of course. The anxiety set in within ten minutes, the distinct and familiar feeling of being the new guy rearing its head soon after. Of being unwanted, trying to befriend people who didn’t like him being he was missing some secret rulebook handed out in kindergarten. 

“Just accept you can’t sing, Tim,” Jon said, pulling one of the colourful throws piled in the back over his legs. He looked almost soft like that, ponytail a little frazzled and frown slipping into something closer to a smile with the barest hint of teeth. The three of them seemed to work perfectly together as a trio, whatever had happened in research bonding them impossibly closely. 

Or maybe it was friendship, plain and simple, because Martin had never been good at spotting that. 

“I can sing extremely well! Fans gather from miles around to hear my voice,” Tim said, nose lifted in the air like he possessed great dignity and talent. Martin ducked his head to hide grin, catching Sasha’s secret smirk in return. 

“No you- _Sasha_ ,” Jon’s stopped himself short, eyes fixed on the dashboard, at the point where Sasha’s feet were resting, ankles neatly crossed. She’d replaced her sensible work shoes with worn-in sneakers that, if Jon’s glare was anything to go by, were probably caked in dirt in his opinion. 

“Oh! Sorry Jon, didn’t know you minded,” Sasha said, swinging them back down and offering him an easy smile as an apology. 

Silence fell after that, Tim’s out of tune humming and the vaguely worrying rumble of the engine the only sound to be heard. It made Martin feel itchy, like when his mother was holed up in her room or when he said something so obviously wrong that everybody stared. 

“So are we going around to cases individually?” Martin asked, partially out of honest curiosity and most in desperation to break the silence and. Besides, Elias’ orders were always hard to figure out through all the creepiness and phrases like ‘taking a more personal approach to feedin-, researching paranormal events’. 

“Who can tell through all the cryptic bullshit?” Tim grumbled, the edges of a scowl just barely visible from the bench Martin sat at. There were two on either side of a low coffee table, both covered in colourful rugs and pillows. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,’ Sasha punctuated her words with a showy shrug. Martin had never thought of shrugs as something that could be showy, but she managed admirably. 

“If you actually _listened_ you would know that we’ve been picked for the honour of doing field research,” Jon flicked his gaze around the room, dark eyes strangely intense. “We are visiting places with documented cases of higher paranormal activity so we can confirm some of the more… outlandish statements.”

“We’re going monster-hunting!” Tim exclaimed, his earlier good mood returning. 

“Clarifying the truth of various folklore and-”

“Looking for cryptids,” Sasha interjected.

“Well, it gets us better pay,” Jon snapped, his dry irritation seeming almost exaggerated. It was only when Tim and Sasha started laughing that Martin got that he had been right, that Jon wasn’t angry but instead making a joke so he could laugh with them. 

Martin found he loved Jon’s laugh. Really it was more of a short chuckle but no less genuine for it, even if it was nearly drowned out by Tim’s wheezing. As for Sasha, she didn’t so much as laugh as grin widely, amusement practically radiating out of her. 

Martin could help but feel at ease as he joined in, the constant whispering of anxiety in his ear drowned out by their repeated attempts to pull him into the group. Even Jon seemed less actively hostile than before, as if leaving the Institute had stripped some great weight off his shoulders. His manner was not easy or kind certainly, but when Martin looked closer his twitchiness looked more like nerves than disdain. Then again, he’d never been the best at reading people, always taking off-handed comments too close to heart. 

But he wouldn’t have gotten that was a joke if it wasn’t for the other assistants. And when Martin looked back at how nervous he had been all this time, how clearly scared of Jon he was, things started to make sense. How he probably hadn’t gotten other jokes, or dismissed offers of friendship disguised in Jon’s awkward ways. 

“It’s actually really interesting, if you cross-reference between the statements and old stories you can see-“ Sasha must have been talking for awhile now, judging by excitement filling her every word. She made the driest of analysis seem so interesting, and Martin could help but be captivated as she talked about the connection between folklore, statements and prophetic dreams. 

“On the topic of uh, spooky dreams, where are we going to sleep?” Martin blurted out, blushing as he realised that he had derailed the conversation in his absentmindedness. 

“Sasha and I can share! How do you guys feel about heights?” Tim seemed unphased, like it was an entirely normal thing to just change topics suddenly. Martin couldn’t help but get the itching sensation that everyone in the car was watching him, and for a moment he wanted to just fade away. 

“I find them acceptable,” Jon said, back ramrod straight and as stiff as his voice, like it was either a confession or a lie. Ever so briefly Martin considered saying something about it, but the thought of Jon’s glare made him want the ground to open up underneath him. 

“Right, We’ll take the one closer to the kitchen - Jon is _not_ allowed to make breakfast,” Tim’s voice held an easy kind of companionship, that kind borne out of late nights and long conversations. Martin found he ached for it, that something in his chest twisted and reached for that kind of teasing companionship.

“What about when Georgie comes?” Jon asks suddenly, and the off-hand mention of ‘a friend of his who needed a lift’ abruptly seemed much more real.. 

“Georgie as in your ex Georgie?” Sasha asked, twisting around so she could give Jon a teasing grin, “That shouldn’t be awkward at _all_.”

“We’re friends, Sasha,” Jon snapped, his voice holding all of that neatly pressed professionalism again, “I am simply repaying a favour.” 

“Riiight, and that part where you have a giant-“ Sasha’s eyes flickered over to Martin and she bit off whatever retort she was about to say, instead sinking back into her seat with a frown. “If you think it’s best,” was all she said. 

Jon twitched like he wanted to reach out for her hand before zeroing in on how Tim and Sasha’s hands were intertwined, “Tim! Both hands on the wheel!”

“Right, right, sorry grand- sorry _boss_ ,” Tim wraps both of his hands around the wheel, giving his best charming smile to everyone else in the campervan. 

“So, why is Georgie coming with us?” Martin asked, because he hated how the silence stretched out before him and because he had always been a little nosy. 

“She wishes to see the phenomenon for herself, as research for her _ghost podcast_ ,” Jon spat those last two words like he had tasted something foul, his cracked lips twisted down into that familiar scowl.

Martin shouldn’t be noticing that his lips were, but really it wasn’t that different from memorising the exact tone of Tim’s laugh, or the lingering awe when Sasha said, “Because Jon’s ex Georgie is Georgie _Barker,_ from What the Ghost.” 

“Wait, what?” Martin asked, and it felt entirely natural to copy Sasha’s awe-filled grin, to smile a bit at how put-on Jon’s frowning was. 

“Yes, and before you ask we dated before she started that… podcast, and why we broke up really isn’t any of your business.” 

“Of course! We are honoured to have a celebrity joining us,” Sasha said, smiling a little as if to show that there was no harm done. 

“I’m sorry!” Martin offered him a tentative smile, which only grew wider at Jon’s slight nod, notably absent from the customary accompanying scowl. For a second at least, but Martin would take what he could get. It did little to help with his guilt though, but Martin was used to flinching at even the most well-meaning criticisms, and his therapist was helping him with it. 

“Hmm,” was all Jon had to say on the matter, though with him ‘said’ never felt quite right, like there should be a more formal alternative, “Your apology is accepted. Georgie and I can share a bed if needed.”

“If you’re comfortable with-“ Tim must have seen something in Jon’s face to reassure him, because he hit the wheel with one hand and grinned, “It’s settled, then!” 

Something about it did feel final, and Martin wasn’t sure if it was the elation of leaving the Institute behind or just the satisfaction of organisation (definitely the former), but Martin felt at ease. Looking at Jon now, leant back against the seat opposite him with a few black strands falling around his face, eyes closed in contentment, he looked almost like a cat in the sun, lazy and stretched out and beautiful in the sunlight, his face a study of shadows and golden tones. 

It made Martin feel like- well, like he could write poetry. It made him feel impossibly, deeply fond of someone he’d only known a few days, like all he needed was Tim and Sasha laughing in the cab and Jon _happy._

It made him feel like this wouldn’t be so horrible after all. 

*

Nobody ever liked to be woken up, much less at G-d-knows-what in the morning by an urgently whispering colleague. But Martin had made a life out of being exactly what someone needed to be, and if that happened to be a person who didn’t need sleep, Martin could manage that. He just didn’t have to be happy about it in the safety of his own thoughts. 

“Mm? What is it Tim?” Martin mumbled, reaching for his glasses and slipping them in with the ease of someone who was used to getting up quickly. 

“Oh, good! You’re awake; look, Sasha and I were wondering… the stars are really pretty and you seem kinda anxious and well, you’re awake now...do you want to go stargazing?”

Martin blinked rapidly, trying to tell if this was some weird, vivid dream. “We’re only just outside the city, we won’t be able to see anything anyway.”

“I mean, probably? But we’ve already woken you… hmm, that might have been more an asshole move than we thought,” Sasha groaned and flicked on the nearby lamp, tilting it so that the light was low enough it wouldn’t disturb Jon.

“What about Jon?” Martin asked, more awake by the second and a little touched they’d thought of this. Mostly he was pissed off, but it wasn’t like he could tell them that. 

“C’mon, do you really think Jon would join us? Plus he sleeps so rarely and we didn’t want to wake him… um, not that we wanted to wake you up?”

“It’s fine! I’m a light sleeper anyway, and to be honest I was only just getting to sleep,” Martin lied, giving them a smile that was only half-faked.

“Great! Let’s go then!” Sashe’s voice was filled with enthusiasm, the infectious kind that got Martin smiling too. It was with some reluctance that he got out of his lovely, warm bed (it was only lumpy in some places!), and with some embarrassment - he’d already seen Jon’s disdainful look at his duck-patterned pyjamas.

The others didn’t seem to mind though, just went about gathering a few blankets and pillows from the benches while he secured his kippah and got them cups of tea from the dying campfire outside. Cooking it over a fire was strange to start off, but he thought he got the hang of it fairly quickly. 

They did it all with utmost silence too, creeping around and whispering with the occasional glance to the overcap. It still felt a little like something out of a dream, soft and quiet and secret like whispering on a sleepover. 

There was a lot of balancing to get everything outside, but finally Sasha laid out the picnic blanket and Tim sorted out the blankets so Martin set the cups down and sat down. 

Neither of them had bothered to get out of their pyjamas either, Tim wearing a worn-out, unusually subdued shirt and sweats. Sasha still had her silk scarf wrapped around her hair, the only addition to her gaudy sleep shirt a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. 

Martin pulled a red-and-brown throw over his shoulders, arranging it so it covered his legs and didn’t knock over the mug he had balanced there. It felt delightfully warm against the cool night air, and when he tilted his head up he really could see the stars. 

Normally the sight of the sky made him feel lost, tiny under the great, lonely expanse of the world but with Tim and Sasha curled up beside him, making appreciative noises at his tea he let himself enjoy how beautiful it was. 

“Do you know any constellations?” Sasha asked, voice hushed as if the heavy quilt muffled her words. Or maybe it was reverence, he thought, fingers itching for pen and paper because he knew this would make a great poem (by his standards at least; Martin had never had any illusions about his abilities but it was _fun_.) 

“Uh, no? I tried learning once to impress a b-boy,” Martin’s eyes flickered quickly over the two, but Tim was playing absently with Sasha’s hand, listening intently along with her. “Didn’t work out,” he finished quietly, something in him easing a little - it wasn’t that he had to come out, or that he’d thought they’d react badly. It was just a relief, he supposed. 

“Well, Sasha here knows all the constellations because _she_ was going to be an astronomer,” Tim said, tone mocking but so obviously full of pride that it fell short. 

“I decided I wanted to go into library sciences after… um, doesn’t matter! Either way, Tim here is just jealous that he never got to go into science.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that my PhD thesis has 89 citations and that’s not even counting my… oh, stop laughing!” Tim swatted lightly in the general direction of his girlfriend, trying to hold back his own laughter. Martin felt a little self-conscious watching them, the pressing anxiety of _they’re going to find out you lied_ drowning everything else out. 

“So, how long have you guys been dating?” He blurted out, promptly turning the approximate shade of a ripe tomato. 

“We’re… not?” Sasha pulled at a loose thread in the quilt, squeezing Tim’s hand slightly to reassure herself in a show of anxiousness Martin found almost out of place with his understanding of her, “It’s called a queerplatonic partnership, it has the same level of commitment… look, you can always google it.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, how long have you been partners then?” Martin asked, feeling a little like he wanted to curl up and drop through a convenient hole in the ground. He’d read a statement like that once, but the man said after climbing out it mostly made a fun party story. Turns out that the ground wasn’t all that bad, and being in a small enclosed space was a real confidence booster. 

Martin had to admit he was surprised, considering they were around his age and he’d been a little envious of Tim’s showy, jokey romantic gestures. Still, it comforted him a little to know they were queer too. 

“Two years! We hooked up once and then we talked… well, you don’t need to know the full story,” Tim said, his smile nothing like the protective scowl he’d taken on a moment before. “I’m glad we got ourselves sorted out though, Sasha is without a doubt the best partner I could ask for.”

“That story is _very_ embarrassing for him,” Sasha said, leaning in a tad conspiratorially, nervousness replaced by a secretive smile, “But, well, I got out of it doing quite well for myself!”

“Like you turn out looking perfect in that story! Remember that incident with the boiling water?” Tim- squeaked really was the only word for it, and Martin couldn’t help laughing. 

He kept on laughing as they told the story, watching them bicker and poke each other until he felt comfortable enough to join in, his empty mug of tea still cradled in his hands. Something about this moment felt perfect, Sasha leaning comfortably against him so she could gesticulate wildly, occasionally combing through Tim’s hair with her other hand as he talked excitedly from his position on her lap, hands fisted in his long dark hair. The blankets had become tangled by this point, the throw and patchwork quilt rumpled but warm. There was a fish pattern on the latter he noticed, orange and red in slightly sloppy stitches. 

Sasha moved on to talking about the stars eventually, and Tim teased her about being a nerd but like this, watching them illuminated by the low light of the moon he could tell how much they loved each other. And it was just a little shitty patch of grass in the camping spot but it felt safe. Like he had friends. 

Martin slept soundly that night, and woke up feeling surprisingly well-rested given how little sleep he’d gotten. 

** 

Martin listened to exactly one episode of _What the Ghost_ in his life, but he’d quite liked it at the time. The host’s laughter was infectious, and she could make even the most ridiculous of stories or ads seem fun. Things had gotten so busy after that though, what with the new job and moving and all the rest. Needless to say, he hadn’t had the time. 

Now, driving towards Georgie Baker’s apartment while her ex grumbled about the right kind of tea brands, Martin took the opportunity to listen to another episode. He started sometime midseason three, with his shitty earbuds jammed firmly into his ears. 

He found he liked this one too - it was the old story about that thing near the library that everyone pretended didn’t exist. She managed to skirt around the topics that everyone avoided with ease while spinning an entertaining mystery, complete with hammy sound effects and spooky voices. Martin could definitely see why the podcast was popular. 

He’d just finished episode thirty-five when Sasha’s hand was stuck in front of him (yellow nail polish instead of bright blue (electric blue in fact, she’d told him when she had been painting them). 

Martin frowned and tapped his earbuds to indicate that he couldn’t hear her, but she grabbed his phone and pressed pause anyway. 

“Martin! We’re almost at Georgie’s apartment, so we’re going to tidy up so we won’t completely embarrass ourselves when she steps in,” Sasha paused briefly, chewing on her bottom lip, “Or at the very least try our best to not disgust her.”

“Aww, do you want to impress her?” Martin said, throwing in his best smirk even as he set to clearing the table and benches. Sasha made a vaguely strangled sound and hit him lightly on the shoulder, grinning back at him when he turned around. It felt nice, he realised, a comfortable routine that he didn’t have to think about anymore. 

Not that their cleaning attempt lasted, Sasha’s delicately stacked tower of unread books falling to the floor at Tim's terrifying attempt at parking. (Martin could remember who decided that they needed half a library on this road trip, but he’d bet on it being mostly Jon and Sasha’s.)

They pulled up in front of a row of apartment buildings, comfortable looking but not too fancy. Nicer than Martin’s, but that was probably because they were in what Martin classified as ‘the country’, though his old high school boyfriend would have laughed at him for that. 

There was a pretty black woman with her long hair in a ponytail and copious amounts of piercings sitting out front, poking her fingers through the top of a cat carrier. A large-ish red suitcase was propped up beside her, currently being used as a makeshift armrest. It fell over when she stood up to wave enthusiastically at them, smiling in a charismatic way that made him understand why Sasha was so flustered. 

“Hey! Thank you so much for this opportunity, it’s great to finally meet you,” Georgie said as they piled out of the campervan, smiling like her words were practiced. She immediately went in for a hug and a kiss on the forehead with Jon. Much to Martin’s, and for that matter Tim and Sasha’s, surprise, he accepted it with minimal grumbling. There was even a small smile on the corners of his lips, a sudden ease to her posture that made Martin smile a little himself. 

Sasha seemed more focused on Georgie, talking a mile a minute about how amazing her podcast was, swaying slightly in her enthusiasm. Tim leaned against the van and watched them, smiling and nodding in all the appropriate places until he was finally pulled fully into the conversation.

Jon for once seemed entirely comfortable, leaning against Georgie with one of her arms slung over his shoulder, making his normal acerbic comments Martin wished he was always like this, smiling a little and without his normal professional rigidity. 

Jon’s arms were held at an odd angle that looked more natural on him, and as he started rambling his hands started flapping slightly. 

“Hey! Martin, have you heard of The Lady in White?” Tim asked, making Martin startle and blush at being found out in his blatant staring.

Martin nodded, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting his weight as he answered, “Yeah, uh, she’s supposed to be the ghost of a grieving mother, right?”

“Yeah! I’ve been wanting to talk about her on my show for ages, but it's a fair bit of a drive and I heard Mel- er, nevermind!” Georgie was an animated talker Martin noticed, twisting her hands together in excitement as she spoke. 

“ _We_ are here to check to see if she’s real and if the details of the statements about her are correct so we can get an, uh, official file on her,” Jon said, the harsh tone of his words significantly diminished by the fact his hair was still messy from Georgie ruffling it. 

“Don’t be rude, Jon,” Georgie tousled his hair again, grinning at his half-hearted attempts to duck out from under her arm. His smile only grew wider, and oh, Martin was distracted again.

“I, uh, did some research? Checked some of the old statements, that sort of thing…” Martin stammered out, his unmoving hand still resting on his neck. 

“A lot of the details are consistent with some of the other cases too,” Sasha piped up, glancing quickly over at Georgie as if to see if she was impressed. Judging by the amazed smile she sent Sasha’s way she was, just like anyone in their right mind would be after meeting Sasha. 

Martin never quite lost that initial wide-eyed amazement, even when she slacked off work to organise an assistants-only game of monopoly, which she promptly cheated at. After the two hour argument over the etymology of the word calliope with Jon he was pretty sure he’d never stop being impressed. He’d started getting a lot less nervous about asking her for help though, and a lot less surprised when she didn’t always have the answers. 

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Jon muttered, sounding remarkably like a petulant child for someone with such a withering glare. Martin felt himself caught between shrinking back and laughing, so he settled for blushing. Not consciously of course, just as a matter of his stupid traitorous face.

“You work at the Institute of Spookiness, how can you not believe in ghosts?” Tim asked, disbelief colouring the amusement in his tone. From Jon’s scowl Martin got the impression that this wasn’t a new joke, or even in the realm of being funny anymore. Sasha laughed anyway. 

“Studies on humanity’s belief in the supernatural is better relegated to discussions on the cultural and philosophic reasoning behind it, not gathering up fake stories,” Jon scowled. “In fact, I never said the supernatural doesn’t exist, simply that we shouldn’t be chasing hoaxes and so-called cryptids.”

“Right, sure, but don’t you think that-” Tim said, and they trailed off into mindless bickering as they helped Georgie load her suitcases and what looked like some rather heavy recording equipment into the van. 

Soon enough they were comfortably settled in, Sasha taking her turn at the driver’s seat with Tim beside her. Jon for his part was busy working, or what looked like a lot of fussing around with files that probably didn’t contain any new information.

“Hi, you’re Martin right? Jon has told me all about yo- ow!” Georgie rubbed her shin for no reason Martin could discern, accidentally elbowing Jon in the process. She had made a beeline to sit next to her ex on one side of the table, sprawling slightly on the bench. 

“Uh, that’s me?” Martin gave her a thumbs up that he instantly regretted, still stuck on the fact that Jon had been telling her all about his failures. Like that time he’d gotten the filing system mixed up, though really it wasn’t like he was the only one. “I hope he hasn’t said anything too bad.”  
  
“Oh, no bad, not at all- stop that!” Georgie yelped, smirk falling off her face.

“That table is a bit of a menace, isn’t it? Tim says that it’s important to preserve every inch of it, but you’d think with legs like his he’d hate a low table.”

“Ah, it’s not so bad, the table has got a weak kick,” Georgie smiled, “Uh, edge that is. Weak edge. I’m sorry, what was that about legs?”  
  
“Please Martin, be _professional_ ,” Jon remarked without looking up from his scribbled notes. Martin nodded, though he didn’t quite understand what he was being unprofessional about. 

“Anyway! I’ll be recording while we check out the most common places for sightings, I just wanted to check if you’re comfortable being featured on my podcast?”  
  
“Oh, uh… I guess? I'm not entirely sure how that works?”  
  
“That’s alright! I’ll tell you about it while we record and run it by you guys during the editing process, if that’s alright with everyone?” 

Martin nodded and settled in a bit more for the long drive ahead, gaze still focused on Jon bent over his files and humming softly as he worked. He really did have such a beautiful voice, and beautiful hair and-

Jon was a very beautiful man, to put it simply. 

***

Martin had always been a light sleeper, even if he was dead tired from his turn at driving. Maybe that was why he was the only one who woke up to the sounds of pen scratching against paper and soft curses.

For a moment he was frozen, bizarrely terrified that one of the ghosts they were hunting had broken in to edit their travel plans. He recognised that voice though, the practiced accident that had been the subject of at least one poem. 

“You should be asleep,” Jon said before Martin can even fully register his presence, swapping what looked like an itinerary for a file. He seemed so much quieter suddenly, sitting bent over in the dark.

That’s ridiculous though, Jon was hardly a small man and he always seemed so much brighter and harsher than everything else even without that, like a cat who’d fluffed himself up to twice his size. 

Speaking of the Admiral, that’s what that sound was, like a rusted- well, there was no metaphor Martin couldn’t think of that properly described how both comforting and awful his purring was. 

“I could say the same thing,” Martin replied, a little harsher than he’d like, but it got hard to keep his voice under control when he was tired. Jon was an easy person to get annoyed with, probably, but it wasn’t like his crush was anything but surface level. 

“I’m working,” Jon said, focusing on the statements spread out in front of him like they could prove his point more than his pointed tone could. Everything about him seemed sharp-edged in the night, more so without Tim and Sasha there. 

“It’s,” Martin scrabbled wildly for his phone, squinting at the bright glare in comparison to Jon’s own use of a dim flashlight, “Nearly midnight, you woke me up.”

“Oh, well, I’m so _sorry,_ ” Jon snapped, looking up so he could glare at him properly, the effect rather lessened by how blood-shot his eyes were. 

“Just… go to sleep, we’ve still got two hours of driving in the morning for you to finish whatever you need to,” Martin said, missing ‘patient and helpful’ by only centimeter. Being a people pleaser was hard at midnight after a day of sitting in a cramped van, it turned out. 

Jon stared at him for a moment, giving him a look remarkably similar to the Admiral’s own stares of startled affront. He seemed to consciously opt out of replying in favour of picking up the flashlight and returning to working one-handed with remarkable skill.

“Come on, you’ll wake up Georgie” Martin tried, wondering why he didn’t just go back to sleep in a uncharacteristic lack of self-awareness. 

“She’s a deep sleeper,” Jon said flatly, “I didn’t mean to wake you, go back to sleep. Or I’ll fire you,” he tacked on. 

“Don’t be an ass, Jon,” Martin finally hissed, rolling his eyes a little in irritation at how remarkably bull-headed his boss could be. 

Jon glared at him finally, and Martin bravely attempted not to wither under his look of utter disgust, which he wore very well and did make Martin feel vaguely warm and fuzzy inside. This was his secondary look of utter disgust after all, the one that meant he didn’t really mean it but did think you were incompetent.

“I still need to braid my hair, and brush my teeth and…” Jon trailed off as he stared fixedly at something in Martin’s face, rocking slightly as his voice got louder. 

“I-I can braid your hair? If you want?” Martin asked, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward smile, “I’m not that good but I am quick and… uhm.”

“That would be… acceptable,” Jon said, looking as if that concession was being torn out of him by force. He busied himself gathering up the files scattered over the table, batting away Martin's hand when he tried to help, muttering something about improper filing techniques. 

While Martin googled how to braid hair Jon changed in the bathroom, emerging wearing what would be oddly professional pajamas, if it wasn’t for the cat-patterned pants. He sat cross-legged on Martin’s bed without a word.

Jon with his hair down was a sight to behold, and one Martin wanted to see again if he had any choice in the matter. It fell to around his mid-back and framed his face very nicely, managing to make his shoulders look even better than Martin thought possible

“This is unprofessional,” Jon said as Martin tried not to marvel at how beautiful his hair was, even in the unflattering light of the flashlight, which really wasn’t helpful at that angle. 

“Half of us are wildly unqualified for this position,” Martin said flatly, a little emboldened by the lack of sleep and the fact that he had his boss/crush’s really very nice hair in his hands. “We passed the bounds of professional long ago.”

“So you admit that you're bad at your job?” Jon asked, and Martin refrained from answering as he tried to figure out what counted as an even split. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was a joke or not, and he really wasn’t keen on embarrassing himself.

“I lied on my CV,” Martin blurted out instead, which definitely counted as embarrassing himself. 

“That does explain the incompetence,” Jon said, a little harsh but when Martin craned his neck he was pretty sure that was a smile, “But I, ah, don’t mind? This job is a bit of a joke, and it’s not like any of us are qualified.”

Martin laughed, shaking a little in relief, “I always figured you were, what with the whole ‘fifty year old professor’ thing you have going.”

“Oh, good lord, no,” Jon said, shaking his head slightly and messing up Martin's already poor attempt at a braid, “I just dress like this because… well, I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you.”

Martin nodded, face falling a bit before Jon actually laughed. It was, Martin was forced to remind himself, a very nice laugh, which Martin would quite like to hear every day for the rest of his life if he could land it.

“This is kind of ridiculous, isn’t it?” Jon said, grinning a little as he reached down to lift the Admiral into his lap, scratching his presumably empty furry head. Martin would be picking out orange hairs from his bed for the rest of the trip, but maybe it would make the Admiral more agreeable to him. 

“Besides, Georgie is here, and if she has her way I’d be dressed head-to-toe in the kind of clothes you’d expect from the lead singer in a neo-folk band,” Jon said, which was very inconsiderate as Martin struggled to deal with that mental image. 

“Are you close then?” Martin managed to choke up, sending his thanks up to G-d and hoping this wasn’t the only payoff he was getting from fasting on Yom Kippur last year. 

“Mm, it was a very amicable breakup,” Jon says, before hesitating and narrowly avoiding shaking his head again, “Well, the breakup was messy, but we couldn’t figure out how to… not live with each other? As friends that is.”

“That’s sweet,” Martin said softly, groping absently for the blue hair tie to finish off the braid, which looked horrifically misshapen but probably passable for a first attempt. Jon didn’t seem to mind, though Martin couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes when he gently touched it. 

The rest of the night passed without incident, as Martin grappled with his nonexistent hair braiding skills. 

Martin fell asleep to the warm, vaguely fuzzy knowledge that he’d just spent the last twenty minutes with his hands buried in Jon’s impossibly soft hair, listening to him talk in a quiet, enthusiastic voice about cats as he petted the Admiral.

He had looked beautiful, and Martin had wanted to kiss his forehead very badly. 

When Martin woke up that morning Jon had his hair in Martin’s clumsy attempt at a braid, wearing dark jeans and an old band shirt that Georgie shoved at him the second he woke up. The sight of it made something warm in his chest unfurl, heavy and comforting.

The next night Jon asked him to braid his hair again. 

(His crush might not be surface level.)


	2. Melanie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melanie runs into a ghost and regrets most of her decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tragically this chapter is a bit shorter by... well, three thousand words, but it does have lesbians, so it evens out

Melanie had spent most of the day sitting next to people she wanted to punch because she had decided that risking public transport was better than testing her beat-up old car. Now that she’d spent an hour restraining herself from punching the snoring man next to her, she’d come to the conclusion that had been a terrible idea. 

The delightful combination of irritation and exhaustion meant that when she finally got off that stupid train she felt more relieved than she had in a long time. Even the fact that it was raining did not bother her overly much.

The fact that someone was shouting her name did, though. It was a recognisable voice too, the kind that was easily remembered by thousands of listeners. The kind that made something in her chest grow impossibly warm, like she was home safe.

Of course it was Georgie Barker who she ran into, tired and aching and still wearing the rumpled shirt and leather jacket that had been on countless trains. (Just two if you were being pedantic, but Melanie didn’t get this far without being dramatic.)

“G-d, I wouldn’t have expected to run into you,” Georgie said as she caught up, neatly transferring her blue umbrella to the other hand so Melanie could stand under it. There were strands of wet hair sticking to her forehead and she was shivering slightly, and she was so beautiful Melanie wanted to cry with it.

That was a feeling she was used to, though. They’d known each other for two years by now and every moment she felt more comfortable, until Melanie actually felt confident calling her a friend. 

(Georgie had broken down to her once, burnt out and spiralling. Melanie had gotten her a cup of tea and talked softly of how wonderful she was, how talented.)

“I could say the same to you,” Melanie said easily, as if she hadn't spent the last minute blankly staring at Georgie and daydreaming about kissing her.

“Mm, I’ve been travelling for… oh, a few days.”

“Lost track of time again?” Melanie grinned a little, displaying a remarkable amount of composure considering how close they were standing. She imagined she could feel the heat of Georgie's body, and how she would smile if Melanie offered her a cup of coffee.

But that would be too close to a date, and Georgie definitely didn’t feel the same way. 

“I’ll have you know I have a meticulous schedule! These are special episodes after all,” Georgie said, putting on an imitation of what Melanie assumed was a movie trailer voice over. Presumably for an action movie, though it was hard to tell sometimes.

“I saw that you were collaborating with your ex-boyfriend and the least respected paranormal institute in the country,” Melanie said, raising an eyebrow in a way that communicated very effectively what she thought of that. 

“It’s not the  _ least  _ respected, it's just… close,” Georgie said, grinning a little despite herself. It was a very lovely grin, Melanie noted in what she hoped was a detached manner, wide, honest and very easy to kiss.

“Uh huh,” Melanie said, drawing the sound out, before stopping in her tracks at an intersection. She had even realised they had been walking in that direction, and the mixture of embarrassment and the anger that always came with it made her turn red. 

“I should head off, my hotel is this way.”

“It’s alright, the van is parked this way,” Georgie said a little too casually, either politely ignoring or not noticing the smile that lit up Melanie’s face.

“That’s great, I mean… well, it’s good we’re heading the same way, because I can guarantee you my special episodes will be far better,” Melanie rambled, a little off-balance and still red. 

“You wish,” Georgie snorted, nudging Melanie lightly with her shoulder in a manner that definitely did not make her feel like she’d swallowed a net full of butterflies. “I saw your posts, we’ll be doing half the same things anyway. Not that I- uh, Jon was already going on the trip and I figured if I ran into you… it’s not important!”

Melanie’s head was too full with buzzing thoughts of filming an episode together with Georgie to focus on her stammering. “Yeah, I saw… actually I was thinking if maybe you might want to do a collaboration?” She blurted out. “You don’t have to of course, and it’s probably a stupid idea but, uh.”

“I’d love to,” Georgie interrupted, swaying slightly in her excitement, “Maybe a few? Uh, you could even come with me- us, if you want,” Georgie said in a forcibly nonchalant manner that probably meant this was out of some obligation, “You’ll have to readjust your schedule, and there’s the archive people to-“

“I’d love to!” Melanie stuffed her hands in her pockets so her blush wouldn’t get too bad, ignoring the unpleasant feeling of wet denim against her fingers. It also stopped her hands from fluttering wildly and turning her excitement into anger. That happened sometimes; her emotions would twist and climb up her throat until everything was so loud she just wanted to scream. 

“Oh! We’ll work out the details soon, okay?” Georgie said, slowing to a stop before Melanie even realised they had arrived.

“Yeah, this is my motel,” she said softly, trying not to make it sound like a question or a plea for her to stay. She did though, she wanted her to stay and have a cup of tea while they watched an old sci-fi movie with terrible special effects. She wanted to laugh at Georgie’s bad sound effects and kiss her gently goodnight.

So yeah, Melanie might be a little in love with Georgie. It was fine though, the anger had passed and only the warmth of it was left. Besides, who wouldn’t be in love with her if they knew her like Melanie did? She was stubborn and talented and so kind when she tried, such an honestly good person that Melanie felt dizzy with it.

Georgie took up all the space in every room she was in with her presence, and she did the same now. Or at least it felt like she did, though really Melanie was just standing far too close, water still stuck to her forehead and dripping down her hooked nose. 

If Melanie was the sentimental sort she would say she wanted to capture this moment forever, street lights shining on Georgie’s boots and making the edges of Melanie feel fuzzy and indistinct, like she was standing in front of a spotlight. Like she could lean up and kiss the rain off Georgie lips.

She settled for straightening Georgie’s scarf, shivering at the warmth of her skin and the scratchiness of the blue fabric. Melanie stayed like that for far too long, fingers resting on the sliver of revealed skin, staring at Georgie.

It was a rainy day. Rainy days always made her sentimental, always made her want for impossible things, like happiness and Georgie. She didn’t get a future after all, didn’t get the soft look in Georgie’s eyes, didn’t get street lights or rain drops.

Melanie loved Georgie like she’s never really loved anyone before, because Melanie does everything with all she is; anger and hatred and stupid fluttering hearts. And yeah, maybe she’ll always remember how they’d looked under that umbrella, the water stuck to Georgie’s eyelashes, the patches of moss on the edges of the sidewalk. Maybe the way Georgie had looked under that stupid blue umbrella, smiling like that.

So yeah, Melanie loved Georgie, but she was good at burying things deep. She’d be just fine. 

“I’ll be seeing you,” she said, and shut the door before the feeling of scratchy fabric could fade from her skin. 

***

Introductions to the employees of the Magnus Archives go swimmingly, in that Melanie would rather be submerged in the iciest waters imaginable than be sitting in a van with them. In fact, she’d rather do anything but sit in this van, but Melanie would also do anything for Georgie, so it balanced out. 

Melanie had never in her life been roommates with someone she didn’t know, not after college, and she thinks that the same principle applies to road trips. But the hot one with the long hair was driving, singing at the top of his lungs with his partner, Sasha, who had marginally less grey in her hair than Tim but a few more wrinkles. 

Oddly enough the one who looked oldest out of them was the tall man with his hair in a messy braid streaked with grey, but Melanie knew that he was around her age because he was Georgie’s ex. 

Now, Melanie wasn’t the type to be petty about that but she was the grudge-holding type if provoked, and Jon was exactly the kind of person who provoked her. It’s almost a pity; judging by what looked like a t-shirt for an old alt band and the long, brightly coloured skirt, they would have gotten along. 

It turned out that he’s an asshole though, and she’s going to have to devote a large part of her life toward the noble pursuit of arguing with one Jonathan Sims. 

In her defence, a fifteen minute screaming match over the respectability of some old guy’s shady institute and, in the words of the man himself, ‘the people who photoshop ghosts into every photograph with lighting dark enough that they can get away with it’.

Melanie was just surprised that he knew what photoshop was. And that he can sulk for the entirety of one very boring car ride, looking faintly sick the whole time. 

Luckily for Jon, he only had to be carsick for ten more minutes before they arrived at the park where the Lady in White was last seen, reportedly looking for her lost daughter. Melanie always had a soft spot for stories like that, even though her research had turned out so many conflicting stories it made her head spin; that she had been murdered for one, or that the daughter had run off with a young lover instead. 

Melanie wasn’t expecting the flurry of activity that followed Tim stopping the car; Georgie grabbing her recording equipment was expected, even Sasha quickly snatching a flashlight. Jon clasping what looked like a mountain of files to his chest wasn’t, even if the glasses on a string and leather jacket were. Martin bought along a thermos and what looked like a knife, which made her raise her estimation of him from ‘doormat’ to ‘doormat but sort of cool’.

Despite all their preparations, the better part of an hour was spent just wandering around a cold, dark park with only Sasha’s flashlight to guide them. Tim was chatting away, cracking a few jokes that grew progressively weaker with the cold and general attitude of not wanting to be here.

Melanie stuck close to Georgie, taking her arm and letting her eager talk of the history behind the ghost wash over her. She already knew most of it, but Georgie’s enthusiasm and approximations of sound effects could make something you’ve heard a thousand times before seem interesting. 

“And there was a castle but that’s been proven-” Georgie was saying when Jon stopped so suddenly Melanie opened her mouth to snap at him. She never got an opportunity though, because there was mist gathering in front of them was kinda distracting.

Not distracting enough enough though, since Melanie was still busy noticing the way Georgie's nose scrunched up when she was surprised instead of say, screaming at the vaguely malevolent mist. 

Or maybe mist wasn’t the right for it; Melanie could see the branches of a tree through it, but it seemed so much more solid than that, like it could swallow them all whole. Melanie bit back a gasp, or maybe a hiss of pain at how tight Georgie’s grip on her arm was. 

It was only when the hair started becoming distinct that Melanie realised it was a ghost, like the one that haunted her apartment building that everyone had sworn not to talk about. Melanie could feel the ghost’s anger, thick in her veins and like fire down her throat in that it made her want to scream and scream until someone could dance to the tune of it. 

She didn’t scream though, just stood stock still, her feet frozen to the ground with the same roots that clutched around her throat, blocking her breathing in a way that made her want to check if they were real. 

But the only real thing here was the Lady in White - because it must be her, with the hounds growling at her feet and the dress shimmering around her - with all her cold anger and burning grief.

Jon was trembling, she noticed dimly, and when she reached out for him on instinct he leant into her touch, letting her grasp the collar of his jacket like she was drowning. Tim was saying something, Sasha was moving forward, but mostly they were just frozen. 

And Melanie wasn’t brave, but here she was standing in front of a ghost with her heart in her throat and something that seemed mystifyingly like bravery but might be a panic attack filling her from head to toe.

The ghost was mourning she knew, and she thought she might be too, still. But the ghost was hurting too, and she just wanted to take that pain away. She knew how it felt to want to give into the anger, to let it burn you up completely instead of using it. Melanie fucking loved being angry, she just didn’t love the way those dogs were growling. 

So Melanie grabbed Martin’s knife out of his frozen fingers and lunged with everything she had, not quite hitting the fog of the Lady in White’s body but scaring her away.

Presumably. Probably. It had happened so quickly that she’s not sure why she did it still, if it was just some mistaken urge to protect or the recklessness she’d tried so hard to leave behind.

Jon was hugging her now, which she didn’t know what to do with apart from awkwardly patting his back and burying her face in his shoulder and not-quite crying. 

The six of them stumble back laughing hysterically, and Melanie wondered how she was going to explain that she stabbed a ghost to her therapist. She wasn’t sure how to explain it to herself; it happened so suddenly everything before it slipped through her fingers like- well, fog. 

Her camera was still running, having survived through an encounter with a ghost and being dropped in Melanie’s wild lunge. She’ll probably delete some of the footage or give it to Jon or whatever, because this definitely fell into the ‘don’t really talk about it’ camp. 

G-d, she was so tired. Georgie was still gripping her arm, gentler this time, not talking but so warm Melanie wanted to kiss her just to get closer. 

***

Melanie had enough footage on her camera to last her two episodes, but if she cut it down so it had no Jon and a lot of Georgie it’ll fit into one. But she didn’t’t want to think about editing now though, feet aching and the sound of the hound’s musical howling ringing in her ears. Preferably she wouldn’t be thinking of anything, not ghosts and not of the warm press of Georgie shoulder against hers. 

They’ll be sharing a bed, which was something she hadn’t foreseen when she’d agreed to travelling with them on impulse, thinking of her depressingly small travel budget. Jon had agreed to shuffle to the other side and share with the guy with glasses, Martin, who had turned bright red at the suggestion.

Poor guy had terrible taste, apparently. 

She’s not thinking of Martin’s terrible taste or Jon’s terrible everything right now, because she’s a little preoccupied with the press of Georgie’s shoulder against hers. The bench was very small, you see, and Georgie was large and affectionate.    
  
Melanie wanted to hold her hand. This was a ridiculous impulse which she would like to stop having sometime soon, possibly now. If she had a choice in the matter it would be filed away along with ‘kissing Georgie’ and ‘suggesting they get another cat and move in together’.

Melanie never used to have this many ridiculous, sappy impulses before seeing Georgie will all her pretty smiles and easy care, a door held open there and a coat offered there. It had no right to be as endearing as it was, just like Georgie had no right to be this charming after fighting a ghost. 

Tim and Sasha looked no less tired than the rest of them, though to be fair Sasha has taken a nap immediately after demanding they go to McDonalds, propping a pillow behind her head and a sleep mask over her eyes. 

She’ll have to wake up soon, because Melanie can just about see the big yellow M in the distance, with it’s promise of floppy fries and cold soda. Even Jon looked excited, and Tim had loudly pondered the benefits of going over the speed limit for a bit.

Ghost hunting was a hungry business, it turned out. 

Not that they would be hungry for much longer, because Tim had pulled into the driveway in record time, an offer to pay on the tip of his tongue. He looked somehow older, the places where his hair was just beginning to grey suddenly as glaring as Jon’s long streaks of silver. 

He hoisted Sasha out of her seat all the same though, letting her rest her head on his shoulder and brushing the hair softly out of her still-sleepy eyes. Melanie averted her eyes, suddenly feeling like it was something she shouldn’t be watching.

They ordered quickly, collapsing onto plastic chairs with a chorus of groans and glaring (mostly from Jon). It was Martin who ordered for then in the end, stumbling over his words in his tiredness.

It felt nice to sit with them like this, quiet with all their attention devoted to 

hamburgers and ice cream, which seemed to wake Sasha up considerably. Even Jon seemed friendlier, talking softly about the origins of some ghost story in a way that was strangely interesting.

He pulled her into a conversation eventually, poking and prodding in a way that should piss her off more than it did, which was still plenty. It feelt nice to debate with him like this, passionate but too tired to get really angry.

Melanie got the feeling he appreciated it, judging from the way he smiled at her for a split-second when they got back to the van, offering to sit up front with her when it was her turn to drive. 

Maybe he just got car-sick or something, really. 

(The drive was nicer than she expected, even though Tim was happy to take over for her after an hour of listening to them bicker back and forth, claiming that he preferred it anyway.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! i now encourage you took look at even more amazing art and a promo post so i can get that precious attention:
> 
> https://lesbianbirds.tumblr.com/post/636723312337223680/this-is-my-art-for-lesbianbirdss-amazing-fic  
> https://lesbianbirds.tumblr.com/post/636722927514025984/my-last-piece-for-tma-big-bang-2020-is-for  
> https://lesbianbirds.tumblr.com/post/636722432100663296/title-assorted-family-photos-chapters-%C2%BC-pov


	3. Martin

If you asked Martin what he expected to be doing on a Saturday night, he’d say watching a nice arthouse movie to relax from Shabbat. Saturday nights were a time to relax and convince Jon to watch something pretentious on his crappy little sunset. But after sunset hit, he was left standing in the middle of the night with a torch clutched in his hands.

He was not entirely happy with the situation, given that he would have preferred to be resting still, as G-d intended. There wasn’t much he could do though, as it was his job, and it was his beloved coworkers, and he did kind of want to see the Jersey Devil. 

Apparently he wasn’t going to show though, because Martin had been standing in wet sand looking miserable for hours now, to the point where even Jon’s usually very pleasant voice was starting to get annoying. He was still rambling about the origins of the myth in that idly condescending, enthusiastic way he had, when Tim screamed. 

Martin wasn’t fond of his friends screaming, or particularly nasty looking chimeras that reminded him of cuttlefish, squids and what looked to be a goat head, complete with bat wings. He hated it on sight, as did Tim, judging by his loud and continued screaming. Martin really hated it, from the way he stumbled when it landed and the way it was eyeing them like a tasty, six-course meal. Martin wanted to kill it.

Sasha and Melanie seemed to be of the same mind as him, because Sasha had just hefted a nasty looking piece of driftwood and Melanie was slowly taking out a knife when Jon started cooing. Actually it was more like baby-talk, the type you might give a cat or say, a demon-squid from Martin’s nightmares. 

Martin was forced to circle back to the cat thing though, because there was something rubbing up against the demon squid and purring. Something orange, bulky and looking like it had been through the wringer several times over. 

“Oh, don’t be obnoxious, it’s not that threatening,” Jon said, rolling his eyes and walking over to where it was staring at them with it’s fish-eyes and picking it up by the- were those hooves? 

Jon was holding the devil-squid-thing like an unruly cat, tucking it under his chin and cooing gently. The only person who seemed to find a problem with this was The Admiral, who meowed in protest and at having both the attention of his human and new friend being taken away from him, threading himself through Jon’s legs. 

But then again, the Admiral was arguably not a person, being a cat. A cat with a very low level of survival skills. 

“Jon tends to take a… relaxed view of the not-spoken things,” Georgie said, looking at him with obvious fondness as she tried to subtly lean on Melanie more, pressing a little closer as Melanie was distracted by waving her knife in a vaguely threatening pattern. 

Martin was in love with this man. Pets might be a problem in the future. Especially since the squid-thing was still eyeing him like it thought jumpers were tasty. Maybe it just wanted to chew on his sleeve or something?

The squid-thing hissed again, and Martin lost all hope for that. 

“So, I think Elias would agree we’re making great use of our research budget,” Tim said flatly, “If we bought a cat carrier for this thing do you think we could justify it?”   
  
“You’re not causing any harm, are you? No you’re not! No you’re not!” Jon said, doing a delightful impression of the voice Melanie used on the Admiral.

“Isn’t he supposed to drown people? Or drop them,” Sasha asked, inching closer so she could pat the squid-thing’s vaguely goat-like head. Martin was pretty sure the skirt she was wearing was Jon’s. 

Martin shivered slightly and thought distantly of burning the Institute down so he would never have to deal with anything like this again. It wouldn’t help anything, but it would make him feel better. 

*

The next time they brought out the blankets and tea Martin knew what to do, the arrangement of blankets they’d had last time and how depressingly short Sasha liked her tea brewed for. It seemed obvious to him they’d do it after facing the Jersey Devil, even if he had turned out to be quite friendly and very affectionate towards cats. 

(Jon had looked very handsome standing on the beach like a Jane Austen hero (Martin had never actually read Jane Austen, but he got the general idea).

He was getting ready to wrap the blanket he’d had before around him when Tim tugged him into his and Sasha’s mess of pillows and heavy green quilts. They didn’t talk about it really, but it felt as easy as breathing for Martin to lean up against them. 

They talked then, of the circus that had tried to take Danny’s brother away, the desperate want for revenge that had only died recently. “We used to be closer,” he confessed quietly, “The circus took that from us but I dunno. I don’t want to waste my life running after them, my therapist says that’s unhealthy. Imagine that!” 

Sasha talked about space before she talked about faces, of the unending expanse that she’d almost traded her identity for. Of the thing that wore her face leaning in close and whispering  _ Curiosity killed the cat _ , of how terrified she had been. She cried, of course, Tim had too. But something about her seemed lighter afterwards, even when she confessed to feeling sometimes like that thing really had replaced her, that she was just a very deluded woman with a great many masks. 

“I lied on my CV,” he blurted out, turning a little red at his outburst. The weight of his lie felt suddenly pale in comparison to what Tim and Sasha had just confessed, cold and heavy in his chest with something like shame. 

But then Tim smiled at him, and Sasha rested a reassuring hand on his leg, and Martin pushed on. 

“It’s just… it was so hard to get a job,” he said in a rush, “It was… well, I’m sure you know, and I needed the money. My mother… uh, couldn’t support us, and I kept on getting rejected. So I got desperate and…”

“We already know,” Sasha said gently, “I… kind of hacked into your computer and I’m really sorry about that, I’m trying to get better at respecting privacy, but- look, we don’t care.”

“We care about you of course!” Tim said hurriedly, “It's just that this is a pretty shitty job, and we’re more impressed than anything. I bet it’d make Elias break out into hives.”

“Mmhm, thank you,” Martin mumbled, a little lost in the thought of Elias with every kind of awful disease he could think of, which he immediately felt guilty about. 

“Now, let Professor Sasha tell you about Orion’s Belt,” Sasha said, breaking the tension and heralding an impressive amount of infodumping. Martin listened quietly, filling in the lulls with what he felt ready to tell them about his mother. 

It was a nice night, the three of them tangled under the mess of blankets. Martin thinks it might be what safety feels like. 

He fell asleep to that warmth, and dreamt of spaceships and, oddly enough, giant pink rats. 

*

Out of everything a paranormal researcher could study, Mothman would be the greatest. There was nothing quite like getting to say that he was the one who finally got to see the man himself in all his winged glory.

Looking at Mothman now, Martin wasn’t all that impressed. Sure, there were the wings and the big red eyes, but the Admiral had worked his magic and to be perfectly honest, nothing really beat the hulky wolf-thing they’d run into a while back.

It wasn’t that uncommon to run into a few strange bird-things anyway - Martin had been quite fond of the one with the giant claws and name that could not and should not be spoken, even if it did eat all of his spiders.

He was pretty sure that one had come from the fire, actually.

Still, Melanie seemed to be getting a lot of great footage, seeing as Mothman was content to sit on that tree branch and make odd screaming sounds. Georgie kept on complaining of static though, but what audio she did get seemed good. 

Jon was still scribbling enthusiastically on his pile of statements, looking like he was ecstatic about the thought of cross-referencing and making fun of obviously lying statement givers. He always looked handsome when he got enthusiastic about something, with his close-mouthed smile and flapping hands.

Martin should ask him out. Not now, but later, when there was less danger of being stuck in a car with someone who had just rejected you. 

*

“Do you want to go out next time we stop somewhere with decent food?” Jon asked the next morning, looking up Mothman conspiracies under the excuse that it was technically work. He said it absently, but when he finally looked up he couldn’t quite disguise his nervousness. 

Martin didn’t say anything for a solid minute, off-balance and still a little distracted by the research he’d been doing. He opened his mouth to say yes, but couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but nod enthusiastically. 

“Yep, definitely, I’d love that,” He said, giving Jon a thumbs up and immediately regretting it, “Er, we’re heading to a city soon, do you want to go to a gallery? Or just food is fine, or we could, uh, go to a park?”   
  
Jon smiled at him with a hint of amusement and what was probably fondness, judging by the little crinkle at the corners of his eyes, “Yes, I’d like that.”

(This park was very nice. The handholding was nicer.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i straight up forgot about this, whoops


	4. Melanie

Melanie had spent an unfair amount of time stiff as a board, breathing shallowly to avoid the fact that Georgie was just inches away from her. Not sleeping, judging by her tossing and turning, but so solidly there that it took Melanie’s breath away, a little. If she wanted she could roll over and kiss the tip of her broad nose, tuck her head into the crook of her shoulder. Melanie could make her feel as warm and protected as Georgie always made her feel just by being near.

And Melanie wanted, of course she wanted, but she was good at squashing feelings down for the sake of friendship and not being the predatory lesbian she’d heard whispers of in locker rooms. Not that Georgie would react like that, but Melanie had tried confessing to straight girls far too many times not to have that doubtful voice whispering in her ear. 

So Melanie did the right thing and curled up, biting her lip and closing her eyes so she could pretend more easily that Georgie was slowly falling into a restful sleep beside her.

Maybe she should offer to switch with Martin, but now that he and Jon were together she doubted they’d be willing to swap beds. 

That next night Melanie didn’t sleep much again, but that was only partially because of the squid-thing and assorted other spooky creatures. She’d like to say it was solely because of the cryptids, but after they’d found the Admiral playing with the Lady in White’s hounds, she’d given up trying to make sense of things. 

Just like she’d given up trying to figure out why Georgie seemed to be inching closer every night. 

Melanie would like to make it quite clear that she hated this, and she hated the way Georgie kept on shifting in her sleep like she was still awake even though it was really just Melanie who was being stupid about this, because Georgie had seemed perfectly happy to share. It got cold out here, it was perfectly logical to want to cuddle. 

That morning Melanie woke up with Georgie’s face tucked into her neck and her legs tangled with her own, and she wanted to stay like that forever, to carve a statue out of it or take a picture. At some point Melanie’s hair had half-fallen out of her messy bun, spreading across the pillow like ink. Georgie didn’t seem to mind though, presumably because Melanie was currently serving as her pillow.

She wanted to hold that moment in her hands for as long as she could, preserve every soft breath that brushed against her neck and the press of her fuzzy socks against her calf.

That being a ridiculous impulse that would presumably shock and repulse Georgie, who thought they were just good friends and would hate Melanie if she knew how she had been taking advantage of her trust. 

She needed a haircut.

*

When Melanie came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her and her hair freshly washed, Jon was waiting with a magazine and a chair where the table normally was. 

“Are you sure about this?” Jon asked, which seemed a bit odd since he already had the scissors in hand. The dustpan had been set aside, their ‘vanmates’ were distracted in the name of scouting out information on a demonic blob of meat. Even if she wanted to back out, she couldn’t.

“Just get on with it,” she snapped, smiling a little at Jon’s soft grin in the mirror they’d prepare for exactly this purpose.

Jon nodded once and started messing with clips and her hair, a considerable task considering it went almost to the small of her back. “So, why do you want to cut it?” He asked as he fussed with it, his touches light and far less intrusive than she was used to with hairdressers. 

“I dunno,” she replied after a beat, flexing her hands in and out of fists as if the right words would materialise in her palms, “I guess I thought I needed a change, I guess… fuck it, I guess I got tired.”

“Yeah,” Jon said quietly as he ran a section of her hair through gently with a comb, muttering absently about knots, “I get the feeling.”

“Mm, like everything was just too much to hold inside. Which is a stupid thing for a haircut to change, but I always wanted short hair, y’know? I’ve always been called a ‘girly girl’, and I don’t mind it, I  _ am  _ after all. But.”

“But,” Jon echoed, and the mirror was at the wrong angle to catch his soft smile but Melanie knew it was there.

“Hair isn’t important, but it makes a difference, y’know? And it’s not the lesbian thing, but,” she laughed a little, “It’s a little bit the lesbian thing.”

“I almost cut my hair when I got this job,” Jon said suddenly, and something in Melanie’s chest eased at the knowledge that he  _ understood _ , “It felt too much like giving in though, like it wouldn’t be me.”

“Yeah, well screw professionalism, huh?” Melanie asked, and her laughter came more easily this time, if a little stressed. Something under her skin still itched with the urge to let it out, but it was only a siren song, and everyone knew those were lies. She could ignore it if she had this. 

Jon snorted his agreement and continued with his attempts at a professional haircut, telling her about how he’d cut his own hair when the paranoia got too bad to go to the hairdressers. It was easier to keep going with it after, with his sensory issues, and he’d just kept on teaching himself how it worked when Georgie asked him to help, watching endless hours of YouTube videos on different types of hair. Melanie made a note to ask Georgie for incriminating photos of his earlier attempts. 

After that he turned to talking about hairstyles, and Melanie let the soothing sound of his voice relax her. She recognised the temptation to fill the room with sound, the urge to let the sharp thing in you that was far too used to fighting be drowned out.

Birds of a feather stick together, she thought, and then started a fierce debate about appropriate methods of paranormal investigation with him. Bonding, she guessed, but something in her knew that they were far too similar to not just click. 

(In another world their sharp edges and stubbornness would have clashed, but this is a kinder world. She can laugh at his ranting about the paranormal entertainment industry and not think of a blinking sky.)

They seemed to finish remarkably quickly considering Jon’s determination to do everything with a near painful amount of finesse. But before she knew it Jon was stepping back and lifting the mirror up so she could see herself better. 

“What do you think?” Jon asked, hovering uncertainly at her back. Melanie took her time admiring herself of course, even the uneven ends, even the way he had cut it a bit too short.

She hugged him before she answered, too tight and too teary to be anything but embarrassing. He was very nice to hug though, wrapping his arms around her and burying his head in her nicely short hair. “I love it,” she whispered, “I love you, you pretentious asshole.”

“Ah- well, I suppose I love you too, even if you are a…  _ YouTuber _ ,” Jon said with mock disgust, and Melanie didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling. 

Melanie wanted to frame this moment, the hair scattered around them and her shitty haircut and the warm feeling of Jon’s dumb grandma cardigan under her hands. She wanted to frame the grey light and the purple of his cardigan and the love she felt, burning just below her lungs. 

(A week, give or take, and she was closer to him than she’d been with most of her friends. It was ridiculous, but that’s what cryptid hunting did to you, apparently.)

“Now, are you going to ask Georgie out with your spiffy new haircut?” He asked, and Melanie broke the hug so she could call him an idiot and vaguely threaten him. There wasn’t much she could do against the trump card of ‘well,  _ I  _ asked my crush out’.

Or at least there wasn’t much until she registered that he’d called her haircut spiffy.

***

When Melanie cracked open her eyes Georgie was at the wheel, laughing at something Sasha had said. It was a loud, full-body laugh, the kind that had no self-consciousness or shame about it. And as she closed her eyes Melanie couldn’t help but think that she finally knew what the term falling in love meant. Because that had to be what the swooping feeling in her stomach was, that warm knowledge that Georgie’s laugh was the kind of thing she wanted to wake up to every day. 

Melanie thought that if someone else looked in her head the image of Georgie there wouldn’t be right, too idealised and too beautiful. But no version of Georgie could ever stand up to her as she truly was, the broad bridge of her nose and the gentle curve of her ears, her slightly crooked canine. Melanie could reconstruct her from memory, the loudness of her laughter and the way she made snap decisions, all of the boundless, overwhelming love she had. 

Besides, Melanie had never thought of her as flawless, never been blind to her stubbornness to make the world fit to her standards, the way her judgements stuck no matter what new information came. But she loved her because of them, because she loved Georgie and she wasn’t going to half-ass it. 

She’d say there was no way to not love her, but Melanie made that decision with full awareness. And she is reminded fine and time again that it was the right one, that she was right to keep those moments she’d framed in her mind’s eye close to her heart. 

Like now, when Georgie looked- beautiful, radiant, alive, laughing at Sasha’s jokes and Tim’s soft smiles, sharing that little secret grin with Jon, the one that turned up one corner of her mouth and made a little spider web of wrinkles appear. In the dying light of the sunset, leaning back against the benches with a cup of tea in one hand it made Melanie want to lean in close to her, to cradle her face as delicately as she could manage and kiss her lips, her cheeks, her forehead until she looked like this forever, safe and happy. 

And she would hold her when she was crying and laugh at stupid ads and Melanie thought she could let go of her anger for this - not just Georgie but Martin’s perfectly brewed cups of tea and Jon’s hidden collection of alt clothes from college. For Tim’s jokes and the way he understood how hard letting go of anger was, Sasha’s companionable silences and rambling. 

And G-d. She could see a future like this, old age and happiness and maybe a few kids if any of them decide to have them, tea and stupid gossip with her friends, with her maybe-wife. 

It was stupid and optimistic but for once, just this moment Melanie thought she could make it real. 

So she did a stupid thing. 

“Hey Georgie, want to get coffee at the next stop? As, y’know, a date. A romantic date. With us two. Alone,” she asked before she could think better of it. 

***

Melanie researched first date ideas with Sasha playing games on her phone and teasing her for an hour and a half before she went to talk to Georgie. She was working on getting better at this whole communication thing, after all, even if it was just to ask if she wanted to go to a museum or a cafe. 

They agreed to a date and kiss briefly and chastely, not that it satisfies Tim, who promptly yelled at them to get a room despite the very apparent fact that they were in a moving vehicle. Jon, the little hypocrite, agreed with him before returning to reading poetry out loud to Martin, which was frankly adorable and should not be allowed in public.

That’s why Melanie was sitting in a nicely decorated, if a little cramped, cafe, a mug of tea held between her hands. It was very warm, and provided something to look at other than the many plants and Georgie, who had decided to wear a flannel that showed off her arms.

It was an entirely reasonable decision to roll up her sleeves, it was getting chilly. It was slightly less reasonable to trip on nothing when Melanie got there, but that was just a rock or something. (She’d held the door open for her when they got to the cafe, which was very gentlemanly and might have made her blush.)

“So…” Melanie drew out the word, looking at anything but the unfairly beautiful woman across from her. If she did look she’d get struck by the idea that Georgie’s piercings had somehow gotten hotter, which was ridiculous, because they’d always been like that. “Nice place, right?”

“Yeah! They make really nice coffee, or so I heard, and I’m pretty sure they make good french toast?”

“That sounds lovely,” Georgie said, fidgeting with her eyebrow piercing in a way that made Melanie faintly nauseous, not that she was about to say anything. 

For a moment the silence stretched on like the “snake” they’d found two days ago, getting longer and longer until you had to move. 

“What's a good first date topic? How are you, any siblings, what’s your biggest childhood trauma?” Melanie blurted out, regretting she hadn’t picked the “run” option like she had with the snake, and also in the majority of her encounters with wild Pokemon when she’d stolen Georgie’s DS.

Melanie wasn’t very good at video games. Or first dates. Or talking to pretty women with eyebrow piercings whose names start with G. 

Nerves really did wonders.   
  
“...good first date?” Melanie said after a beat, because Georgie was studiously looking at the menu and she knew for a fact that she’d hate most of what was on there.   
  
“My best yet,” Georgie said softly, a small smile lighting up her face in a way that made Melanie think vaguely of wedding rings. 

“Better than the Hungarian food guy?”   
  
“Way better. If you’d just widen your horizons you’d get extra points though.”   
  
“Not a chance am I eating Hungarian food, not even for very handsome women who I want to kiss very much,” Melanie said, giving herself a mental pat on the back when Georgie laughed. 

“Well, if I’m not getting Hungarian food can we ditch this place? French toast isn’t really my favourite, and I ate earlier anyway,” Georgie said, “Helps to have a sandwich when you’re obsessing over dates with cute girls.”

Melanie nodded instead of blushing, because Georgie was giving her that easy, charming grin again and she kind of wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor, or at the very least get on one knee with a ring box. 

She really needed to stop thinking about proposing or she would turn into a stereotype and buy a U-haul. 

“Come on! I’ll give you the Georgie Barker tour of Washington,” Georgie said, offering a hand to Melanie. 

The Georgie Barker tour turned out to be hitting a few major landmarks, thrift shopping until they found a suitably “cool” hat for Georgie and a nice enough jacket for Melanie, and then getting lost.

Or well, not lost, even though Melanie was feeling pretty lost. To be fair they’d also been physically lost for a bit, before they heard purring like a motor engine and Georgie had dashed off to find the cat and/or broken car that was making the sound

Actually, they might still be physically lost as well, but finding the carpark had been knocked down an item or two in the face of seeing a small, orange lump of fur. Now, ordinarily ‘small lump of orange fur’ was a good sight, because it meant Melanie would be getting cat cuddles.

Now it meant that she wasn’t getting cat cuddles, but an unnatural giant of a cat whose glowing yellow eyes and massive claws gave the impression of something that crawled out from the depth of Hell. Not to mention the actual horns, which resembled very small antlers and looked quite sharp. 

“Your cat is cuddling with a demon from hell,” Melanie said flatly, fingers inching towards the knife she kept on herself at all times. Even when she was on a date with a very beautiful, amazing woman with a crazy cat. “Your cat interrupted our date. Do you think he did it on purpose? Stinky old bastard, I bet he  _ did. _ ”

“I’m just glad he’s finally made a friend! And such a cute cat, too,” Georgie said, inching towards them as if her nice pants weren’t about to get ripped to shreds. The demon cat didn’t actually seem to mind, just purred louder. 

The Admiral didn’t say anything, but he did meow loudly and give the demon cat from the depths of hell a few short licks, as if to say he was doing just fine. Personally Melanie felt a bit faint, but she still had a cute girl to impress. 

“Are you sure… actually, I’m pretty sure that’s the cat we came to investigate,” Melanie said, fumbling for her phone so she could take a photo for Jon’s files, “The one that heralded and/or caused politician’s deaths? Which... you know what, that almost balances out the horns.”

“Really, it’s fine! He does this sometimes, runs off and befriends one of the... creatures? It’s harmless,” Georgie smiled at her, and Melanie’s brain short-circuited briefly, “Besides, our research said it wasn’t  _ that  _ dangerous.”

“...you know what? This makes about as much sense as everything else does,” Melanie muttered, rubbing her temples for only a second before Georgie took her hand. 

“Come on, I want to show you this gallery I heard of! The Admiral is fine,” Georgie said, and because Melanie loved galleries and Georgie, she agreed. 

The cat stared after her. Melanie really hoped that wasn’t a bad omen. 

*

Melanie curls up with Jon when they both can’t sleep sometimes, too scared to talk to their partners about all the twisting in their chests. They’re always silent when they curl up by window and trace patterns on each other’s arms, no prying questions to make themselves think of things they’d rather not.

Jon promised her he’d start going to therapy when they get back. Melanie promised she’d take her own advice.

But for now she’s content to brush her fingers through Jon’s hair and experiment with all the complicated braids she can’t do on her own hair anymore, pointing out nonsensical billboards and talking of ghost stories and urban myths. 

They don’t talk of what happens when they get back. But sometimes Melanie tells Jon about how much she loves Georgie, and Jon tells him about Martin’s tea and his smiles. 

One of the billboards reads ‘Just Because You Did It Doesn’t Mean You’re Guilty’. It’s oddly comforting.

*

“Do you actually know how this works?” Tim asked, because he was secretly a massive asshole and just because they’d bonded over anger management tips doesn’t mean she couldn’t kick his ass.

“Yes,” Melanie bit out, unwilling to confess that she’d only watched a five minute YouTube tutorial, “I’m just a bit out of practice.”

“You seemed very confident at the start,” Jon said mildly, because she was surrounded by the most irritating people in the general area, if not the state. He was sprawled out on Martin’s lap, getting to enjoy his now loose hair being gently combed through. 

Melanie wasn’t getting  _ her  _ hair petted by her girlfriend, because her girlfriend was busy laughing at her. Just because her laugh was unfairly nice and pretty doesn’t mean Melanie doesn’t have the right to give the fire a particular fierce poke.

Georgie shuffled over to her and tucked her arm around Melanie, pressing a soft kiss to her hair, which made her mood considerably lighter. Melanie breathed in deep, thought back to that tutorial, and carefully wrapped the potatoes in foil. Tim cheered like she’d just scored a goal in footy, presumably because he wanted to get kicked in the shin. 

Sasha gave a weak, marginally less mocking cheer, most of her swamped in a large blanket that she refused to share even with Tim and Martin, who were both giving it longing looks. Jon had bundled himself up in layers of clothing, even deigning to wear tights under his skirt. None of this stopped all four of them from whining. 

She didn’t know what they were complaining about, Martin had those big jumpers of his and Tim- well, Tim was wearing a short-sleeved shirt after nightfall, so if he was itching from the second he woke up that was his fault. He deserved mosquitoes and frostbite. 

Melanie was nice and warm by the fire with her very lovely and beautiful girlfriend next to her, but she was pretty sure being saddled with cooking duty was worse. “Shut up, both of you, I know what I’m doing,” she hissed, holding up the weird lumps of foil to illustrate her point. 

“Wow, that looks delicious, Melanie,” Jon drawled, and the fact that he managed to be cutting while dressing in the kind of clothes Melanie’s grandmother wore was both infuriating and admirable. Apparently with him it was either clothes he wore when he still performed with his band, cardigans, or sweater vests. 

At least he had a varied wardrobe.

“I believe in you,” Martin said, because he was nice and kind and had the common decency to at least muffle his laughter as she tried to figure out how to tuck the potatoes close enough to the fire so that they actually cooked without burning her fingers. He still sounded mocking. 

“Oh, piss off,” Melanie snapped, aiming for a light punch on his arm and managing to kick Tim’s shin instead in a remarkable display of coordination. Tim retailed by managing a weak hit to her ankle with the tip of his shoe. 

Whatever, she’d get revenge. 

“How long are these going to take?” Sasha whined, kicking out her slippered feet in all their fuzzy pink glory. Melanie gritted her teeth and wrapped up another potato in two layers of foil, stubbornly ignoring her own hunger. 

“Ghost stories!” Georgie said desperately, sensing the growing tensions born out of hunger and exhaustion, “If we don’t do something we’ll all murder each other, and I really don’t want to give a statement.”

“Do you think Jon’s successor will be as stuck up and asshole-y as he is?” Tim asked, eyeing the foil-wrapped bundles tucked into the fire like he was willing to try his luck with an undercooked potato.

“I hope whoever they are fires you,” Jon hissed, glaring at him even though he had his glasses on a chain and it still didn’t lessen the effect, the bastard. Melanie settled for admiration, because she loved him very much and was definitely giving him the last potato. 

“Ghost stories sound like a great idea!” Georgie said. 

“I can’t tell a ghost story,” Sasha said, tugging her blanket around her and managing to look remarkably like an injured heroine, albeit with the aforementioned fuzzy slippers. 

“You made everything so, so much worse,” Jon said, fondness seeping into his voice like it always did when he talked to her, or Tim, or- Jon was a fond kind of person, when he wasn’t rude or irritated. 

“I did  _ not _ !”

“Sasha, light of my life, partner of many years, you ran  _ right at the Ozark Howler.” _

“Well, it worked!”

Melanie stubbornly ignored them in favour of fishing out the foil bundles, passing them out gingerly, fingers stinging from the heat. Martin dug out the butter and ketchup, applying both liberally before passing the bottle to Sasha.

“To our last night!” Tim cheered, and accepted the subdued response in good grace. He couldn’t blame them for not looking forward to returning to the dull monotony of daily life, after all. Melanie didn’t want to think of that though, just as she didn’t want to think of how much she’d miss them, and, G-d forbid, even the van. 

At least Melanie got a girlfriend out of it. And some really great videos. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnd done! thank you to everyone who worked with me on this

**Author's Note:**

> please check out the art @reese-haleth made for this chapter! https://reese-haleth.tumblr.com/post/636721780149616640/heres-my-piece-i-made-for-lesbianbirds-s


End file.
